In the crevice between thought and slumber, where lilac shadows convene, there lies an expanse untouched, untold. Here, the murmurs of the universe unfold like tendrils of smoke against a midnight sky. Stars spin tales of forgotten galaxies, each twinkle holding a narrative of promises spoken by the ancients, secrets threaded into the very fabric of eternity. The air shimmers, laden with the scent of dusky memories and golden silk spun by the cosmos itself.
Beneath the alabaster canopy, where the heart finds solace, everything is a mere whisper, a suggestion, a chimera dancing on the edge of oblivion. Time waltzes in languid circles within this governorless realm, unshackled from the decree of purpose, adrift within its own infinitude. The celestial dome bends, undulating gently with the breath of invisible prophets who script the destiny of dreams in the parchment of nothingness.
Murmurings of the Aether Rays of the Unseen In the Garden of the Moon